Summoned
by Infernus Fenris
Summary: Lordran is dying, the Flame is fading, and the first line of defense against the dark is a spooked knight and some idiot undead named Mike that didn't even belong there. Pulled from his home and deposited in Lordran, it's up to Mike to hold back the growing dark, and find his way home. But there's something different in Lordran, something has changed...
1. Chapter 1

_Long ago, in a walled off city to the north..._

_*Ahem. Excuse me, wrong intro.*_

_In the Age of Ancients, the world was unformed, little to no sensory detail written into it. Then, there was text._

_A stiff breeze whistled through the craggy stones of the Northern Asylum, leaving in its wake frail, shaking hollows milling about, moaning pitifully. Few had survived the curse that'd swept the land, and none sane remained in the asylum. Corpses littered the ground, some moving still. The smell of decay and rot had long been swept away by icy wind and the ravages of time._

_In a particular hallway, a basement level floor on the western side of the building, a lone man, clutching his side, staggered to the floor of an open cell, a long dead pyromancer sprawled face down nearby. The man was clothed in ragged strips of cloth, his skin a dark shade of pink, wrinkled and shriveled upon his bone frame. He breathed heavily when he sat, hands clutched tightly around a tiny black wisp near his breast._

_The humanity sprite slowly slipped, bit by bit, into the man's darksign, a pitch black circle the size of a palm etched into his shoulder, covering the skin there. With every second he sat, doing nothing, a little more of the humanity slipped into the circle, his last link to sanity waning. Twin pricks of light in the wisp slowly dragged across the room, taking in the drab grey, mossy walls, the moldy hay on the floor, and finally, the undead corpse, cast face down on the floor next to him. It was a pitiful thing, hand outstretched toward the bucket a few feet away. The hollowing man had little to care for the already gone._

_A single, heavy sigh shook the man as the wisp finally collapsed, its fragments tugged by an invisible string into his darksign in an instant. His thoughts moved to his family, and he pulled a small child's doll from his ragged pants. It was made of old, worn wood, and adorned with surprisingly smooth strings for hair, and a simple, smiling face. He'd found it in one of the storage rooms above, and had intended to give it to his daughter, when he escaped. Now, he clutched to it as a lifeline, struggling for a few more moments with it to his chest. In his last few moments, he felt himself tilt, accelerating rapidly toward the moldy hay next to him. His free hand flopped uselessly out in front of him, nudging the corpse._

_A sharp gasp filled the room. The pyromancer sat up._

* * *

Long story short, I've had too much work to do this summer, and writing has been difficult. I'll be trimming down Old Summoned and rebuilding the whole thing from scratch, again. I've only got a few chapters done right now, and I wanted to have more before I started uploading, but again, work and stuff. If you want to more personally help with the story reviews are cool, or you can PM me and I'll direct you to my discord. Stay cool everyone.


	2. Chapter 2

Foreword: This chapter is really quite long, and the rest probably will not be this long. It was just fun writing this. End foreword.

* * *

Immediately after sitting up, Mike fell on his face. In a none too gentle manner he slammed onto cold stone, bouncing once before coming to a stop on his side. What he saw confused him.

Just in front of him was a pile of foul smelling, moldy straw, next to which sat a bucket. A pinkish, sort of shriveled object sat before him, unmoving. When he turned his head, Mike could see the room he was in in its entirety. Directly above him was a ceiling built of a dark grey stone, in the middle of which was a perfectly square opening that revealed a slightly overcast sky. The walls, too, were built of grey brick, and to his left rusted chains dangled, ending in wide bands of iron corroded shut. Mike retched when he saw they were still occupied.

"What a pleasant place." Mike said aloud as he pulled himself into a sitting position. From his location in the middle of the room, the floor extended roughly four feet in all directions before meeting the walls, which looked to be about twelve or so feet high. In front of him a door was set into the wall, heavily rusted and not likely to be functional. How had he gotten into the room, through the ceiling? Where then could he be, that he'd somehow gotten himself stuck inside?

His own words echoed back to him from the hallway beyond his cell a few moments later. If he squinted he could make out dim lights farther into the building, however the sunlight from above made it too difficult to make out much. From what he saw, many other iron doors covered the walls just beyond his cell, stretching off into the darkness. It looked not dissimilar to what he imagined the interior of an old prison might look like, sans proper lighting. A sort of old, decrepit sound filled the air for a few seconds as a burst of chilly air entered the room from the ceiling, whistling down the hall.

A clacking sound suddenly filled the air, at first echoing down the hallway, then from above. Accompanying it was the sound of metal ringing on stone, steadily getting louder. Mike stood with some effort and moved closer to the cell door, grasping it with his hands. Hands that were shriveled and pink, wrapped in what looked like bandages. A surprised shout came from him, and the clacking sound stopped abruptly.

As Mike studied the skinny pink fingers that emerged from his bandage-gloves a gentle cough came from above. When he turned to the noise, it turned out to be a pair of bright green eyes behind a scuffed steel visor, from which a voice emerged.

"You there!" The voice called, clear and strong. "I heard a commotion, do you yet hold onto sanity?" The face stared down through the room's skylight, a pair of gauntlet clad hands appearing to brace whoever was up there against the edge of the ceiling.

"Yes!" Mike said as loudly as he could. This turned out to be something above a whisper, but much less than his normal volume, and the knight-or so he appeared-did not hear him. He cleared his throat out loudly and again called out "Yes!" This time his voice, harsh like sandpaper rubbing together, made its way up to the person above. They nodded, and shortly after a small object fell from the metal hand. it produced a clear ringing chime when it met the stone floor, drawing his attention. When he looked up to the ceiling the stranger was gone. Stepping forward to see what had fallen, he discovered a heavy brown skeleton key on the floor, which explained the ringing sound that'd accompanied the person above. They must've been dropping keys through other rooms, perhaps someone else could help him figure out where here was.

Though, even if he did find out where he was, what could explain the strange quality of his skin, or the unusual clothing he was clad in? Over a shirt and pants made of coarse, black cloth hung a brown robe-like piece of cloth, woven with small red and orange beads and loosely held around his waist with a belt holding numerous leather pouches, all empty when he checked. So far as he could tell, his skin was entirely pinkish, pulled so tightly over his body as to make him look like one of those skeletons you'd find in a science classroom, colored pink. Even were he to escape, he'd look like some sort of short, pink alien.

At least he had one part of him relatively intact; his hair. If he was gonna be a freak, he would be the freak with the best looking mane. He tied his brown locks into a knot to keep it out of the way and began to reach through the door to unlock it. Surprisingly, the rusty key slid into the rustier lock, and by some miracle the mechanisms put up little resistance when he twisted the head of the key clockwise a full turn. Inquisitive eyes were met with darkness as he stepped out of his cell and into the hallway.

_Maybe this is some sort of prank? _Mike wondered as he let his eyes adjust to the sudden darkness. It would seem likely enough that someone could've moved him in his sleep to wherever he was, given enough caution. His body, though, was a mystery. Any chemical or substance that could cause such sudden changes as the weight loss he'd undergone and the massive discoloration from his usual just-shy-of-pale look would be either undiscovered or a military secret, something he doubted any of his college acquaintances would have access to. No, wherever he was, it was somewhere very unusual.

A shiver went down Mike's spine when he was able to fully view the hallway beyond his cell; something chillingly familiar yet old, a distant memory in the recesses of his mind. An echo of words long forgotten echoed through him as Mike padded softly down the hall on bare feet, peering into cells as he went. In many, the rooms were bare, their doors torn off the hinges or warped like they'd been hit from a cannon. The most unusual part of these rooms was that their doors were all destroyed _from the inside, _whatever had once been held in these rooms had pushed their way out with brute force exceeding that of any one person, no matter the size. Other cells, though, held far more familiar sights. Mike stopped dead in his tracks when he came upon the first of the hollows.

Beady red eyes glared out at Mike from deeply sunken eye sockets, a toothless mouth opening and closing silently. The hollow-where the term came from failed him-feebly jangled the chains holding it to the wall, shaking itself wildly like an animal. Mike knew instinctively that this one, and likely many more could not be saved, the human part of them was gone, leaving hollow shells. A weird, dark mark marred the skin of the hollow he watched, a perfect circle a palms width across on the creatures' right breast. the skin around it smoothed into the black circle seamlessly, and as he stared, an ache suddenly began to burn in his chest. When Mike pulled back the dark undershirt he wore he found a mark on his chest perfectly identical to the other, save for a hot orange ring surrounding the mark. A shudder went through Mike, and memories flooded his mind.

The Asylum, Firelink Shrine, The Chapel, Sens Fortress, Anor Londo, and numerous other places and things flooded his mind in an instant. Months of careful fighting and cautious exploration and many, many deaths years past came back to him in an instant.

"Son of a bitch!" Mike exclaimed. A pink hand came up to pinch his cheek. He blinked, and found red eyes glaring back from the hollow in the cell. "Dang." Mike stated.

What to do? These sort of things were beyond his scope, how was he supposed to be the chosen undead? Or maybe there was already one, Oscar would know. There was a plan! Oscar was trained, armored, and in need, all he would need to do would be provide directions, which would be much less than tackling the Asylum Demon alone. Of course, the knight would have some inhibitions about facing it again, that could be dealt with in time. Mike turned and sped along the hall, carefully navigating the occasional puddle shrouded in the half-light of the torches.

A sudden, floor-shaking rumble stopped him in his tracks. Mike slipped and grabbed the wall, to be met with air. His body caught itself at the shoulder, where he became stuck between a pair of vertical iron bars separating the hallway and a larger room beyond. Mike's breath hitched when the rumble came closer, and a demon stepped into sight.

Mind you, Mike was no stranger to fear, of mundane portions. Speeding traffic, angry people, that sort of thing. When the demon turned its head to glare down at him, a cold sweat broke out along his undead back, and his struggling increased tenfold.

Mike glanced back and forth at the demon and his stuck arm as it stepped closer to him, concern etched across his face. He'd experienced time and time again how far those fireballs could reach, no way did he intend to stick around. When he did wrench his arm free, it was just on time. He popped out of the bars like a cork and bolted away from the demon just as it began barring its rotten teeth at him.

_Nope. _Mike struggled with himself as he blew past the hollows further down the hall, breath coming in ragged bursts. When he did stop it was because he nearly fell into a pool of water at a turn at the end of the hall, which led to a ladder extending upwards into cold sunlight. Mike shook his head and caught his breath, goosebumps breaking out across his arms.

"Graa." Mike, startled, looked around for the source of the sound. It appeared the hollow sitting cross legged in the pool of water had made the vocalization. Mike peered at it for a few seconds, before shrugging it off.

"First company in a while, eh?" Mike asked the hollow. Of course, it had no clue what he was saying, but the one sided conversation sort of helped ground him. "Bet you've seen some faces in your time."

"Graa."

Mike nodded sagely. "I feel you." He glanced down at the back of his wrist casually. "Crap. Sorry, but I've got a dying man a couple floors from here and no time to spare, I gotta bounce. Later." The hollow stared, slack jawed as he stepped around the puddle it resided in and began monkeying up the ladder.

"Terrible conversationalist." He said as he ascended. At the top he clambered out of the floor and onto snowy grass, the cold significantly lessened in his hollow form. The bonfire in front of him caught his attention almost immediately. Like a moth to, well, a flame, he walked up to it and reached out a hand to touch it.

"Ow! Ah, should've expected that!" Mike pulled his burned palm back and stuck it in the snow. By then the flames had jumped to life, crackling cheerily. When he pulled his hand back, it was already healed, fading from angry red to normal pink. Normal pink? Mike supposed he would have to get used to unusual things becoming normal rather fast. Denial would only lead to more deaths, and he would prefer to avoid those, if he could.

It was rather curious, the possibility of dying. Certainly, there was a sort of morbid curiosity that slept in the back of his mind; what would dying be like? Would it be instantaneous, the time between death and rebirth in the bonfire, or a more lengthy process involving lights and tunnels? What might cause a person to hollow, short of extraneous circumstances such as Siegmeyer's? Mike rattled off a list of things to inquire on later when things were less hectic in the back of his mind, along with the curiosity towards dying. Hopefully, that wouldn't come to pass at all.

When he peeled himself off the ground before the bonfire it was only because of the thought that Oscar was waiting to pass on his prophecy somewhere above, likely in intense pain. There was a certain appeal to the bonfires, a homey, welcoming feeling reminiscent of watching late night movies with his family. Now could he understand the Crestfallen Warrior's point of view. Somewhere, near the surface of his thoughts Mike wanted to sit down and never get up, to ignore the coming trials.

At the far end of the courtyard he was in stood a pair of massive green double doors, far taller than he thought necessary. A part of Mike thought perhaps they wouldn't open and this adventure would bring him elsewhere, the Flame left to someone else.

"Of course." Mike said. The leftmost door came open as if newly made and oiled, resisted only by the snow piled up against it. He peered into the adjacent courtyard cautiously, reassuring himself nothing had changed between the digital and probably-real world. Red gate ready to crash down? Check. Pots? Lots of 'em. Demon? Of course, the fat lug was propped on the edge of the roof overhead, somehow not caving it in further. It was somewhat like the one below, massive and very evil looking, but there were few notable differences. This one somehow managed to look larger than the other, noticeably around its midsection. What looked like great slabs of stone jutted wildly from its arms and legs, and hundreds of narrow, razor sharp teeth poked from its maw.

Now, if he understood correctly how things would go, the demon would hop off its ledge as soon as Mike was sufficiently close for it to surprise him. However, Mike had different thoughts. Perhaps the demon was as stupid as it was large, and Mike could claim a small advantage. With his foot Mike carefully slid a small brick from inside the courtyard close enough to pick up, but still far enough to not alert the demon. The next part of this particular plan would require a halfway decent amount of strength on Mike's part, and the hope that the demon was actually focusing on the roof above, and not carefully fooling unsuspecting undead.

He cocked his arm back, and when he was sure the demon was squinting at the distance Mike leaned inside the doorway and hurled the brick as hard as he could in the far left corner of the courtyard-right into a tight cluster of pots. The demon's reaction was immediate, in seconds it went from unfocused stare to high alert, massive arms gripping the hammer resting on the roof besides it. Thankfully, Mike had pulled out of the courtyard and behind the still-closed door just in time, the demon found an empty door and mildly scuffed snow when it turned its head that way. A deep grunt echoed around the corner, followed moments after by a familiar series of loud thuds. Mike emerged from his hiding spot just in time to see the demons girth slam into the snow, sending up a massive cloud of snow. He was in an d out of the courtyard in a flash, before the demon could even spot him.

The only sign of danger came when Mike slipped through the rusted portcullis behind the demon, which stared intently at the clustered pots at the opposite end of the courtyard. When Mike came before the gate, his feet encountered cold, hard ice hidden beneath the snow, and both legs flew out from beneath him as the floor came up to meet his face. Still moving at running speeds, Mike slid through the gate just moments before the rusted iron gave way, and the entire mechanism released, sending jagged metal spikes into the stone floor. One of these spikes caught the back of Mike's left thigh as he slid through; his only saving grace the wild flailing grip that caught a set of stairs just a few feet beyond the portcullis. An unusual feeling ran up Mike's leg as he tumbled down the stairs a few more feet.

Not necessarily pain, the large gash the gate spike had made brought forth a numb, _wrong _feeling in Mike's leg. It was definitely a poor injury for where he was, six or so feet from what appeared to be an unlit bonfire before him. On his face in the dark, Mike took a few moments to feel around the back of his leg, his hand finding a rip in his pants thoroughly soaked in tacky, warm liquid.

Wait, that was blood.

Mike had never been hurt to this scope before, not remotely. Being one of the few people that hadn't been injured beyond small cuts and bruises before, the large gash in his thigh made Mike more than a little uncomfortable and, though he realized he would be fine, a little scared. The blood felt like it was flowing fast, but he could make it six feet on one leg and his arms, right? Right. First, he had to start moving. More moving, less overthinking this.

Forts, Mike brought his good leg up under him. In a split second the muscles in his other leg moved, and searing pain the likes of which he'd never experienced raced up his body, causing him to fall back on his face.

"Jesus!" Mike yelled, arm reaching around to make sure his leg hadn't ripped free. "Fuck! Arms it is!" Breath coming in short bursts, Mike pressed his palms to the floor and pushed down, effectively doing a wimpy half-pushup. He came down a foot further than before, and his injured leg flared in protest as his foot twisted under him. This sucked, and he hadn't done half the tutorial.

Push up, drop down. Hey, the pain wasn't so bad that time. Maybe his leg was getting numb, from the cold maybe? Push up, drop down. Maybe in time he didn't have, Mike could learn some proper fighting techniques. As it was, just about anything beyond a Black Knight would be a big no-no to even approach. ranged tactics would have to do. Push up, drop down. Magic, maybe? Bows would be out, he'd never been that good, but a crossbow might do, if he could figure it out. Oscar might know. It seemed pyromancy and sorcery might be the best avenues, especially for someone as unaware as he. Managing the playing field from afar with advanced knowledge at his side would definitely lighten his burden.

Mike finished the last few feet of his crawl just as his leg began to flare up with pain, and the bonfire burst to life. He grinned a little as his leg began to close up and the blood flow slowed and stopped. In a matter of minutes, he could pull himself to his feet like he'd never been hurt. it was interesting, this undead body. Where blood had flowed thin puddles of melted snow laced with crimson littered the ground, but elsewhere on his body snow made its way into his clothes and against his skin like sand, unmelting. It was sort of weird, to be honest.

Not that his situation was very normal, if Mike was honest with himself. Obviously things would be pretty sucky, that was somewhat true of most stuff anyway. Better he focus on his goals and achieving them, and the current one lay dying a few halls away. Mike stretched his healed leg out, enjoyed the new ventilation in his pants, and moved on.

The next hallway was a bit of a concern to Mike. If the archer there did, for whatever reason, have a functioning bow and arrows-though Mike doubted that-there would be a problem. Light cuts and scrapes he could endure, heck even rougher ones like just recently, but an arrow would probably kill him before he could get back to the bonfire, not to mention getting it out of him even if he did backtrack while impaled.

_Fwap!_

It was laughable, really. Outside of the small, mostly water filled room Mike was in was a hallway of about thirty feet, the roof gone. At the far end a single hollow stood, holding a now broken longbow in its hands. Mike needn't even worry as he leisurely turned the corner and walked down the hall, looking around for anything useful. Though he didn't find a shield, there were a number of ice crusted bricks to take for further distractions. At the end of the hall, the hollow saw him approaching and ran up a nearby set of stairs, also Mike's path.

Unfortunately, Mike also didn't find any sort of weapon at the end of the hall where he would expect one to be. Dressed as he was in brown robes, Mike'd assumed he'd have had an axe, or some other pyromancer-specific weapons to take. Maybe, if he was lucky, he'd be able to retrieve a pyromancy flame further ahead! That'd be an immense boon so early, and the prospect of magic... enough to get him to continue, if only for that.

Mike got a close up look of the hollow from before when he crested the top of the stairs. Lying in wait, the hollow's immediate move on seeing Mike was to jump forward and begin battering him with the wooden halves of its bow, to which Mike flinched momentarily.

"Hey!" Mike yelled, shoving away the hollow instinctively. Stunned, it did nothing as Mike stepped forward and kicked its knees, hard. "Stupid thing, I should've seen that coming." Mike said as he pushed the hollow down the stairs behind him to slow it down. It crumpled into a heap at the bottom and stayed deathly still.

"Oh man, I didn't mean to do that." Mike said in surprise. He hadn't pushed it _that _hard, had he? Maybe it was just a... particularly weak one, yeah. It had assaulted him first, anyway. When the souls did come, it was in a small rush that left Mike half breathless at the top of the stairs, a new feeling of wholeness settled in his chest. With renewed vigor he turned and made his way to Oscar's cell.

After entering the second floor of the asylum through a cold wall of white fog that obscured his way Mike turned right and headed for a crumbling stone stairway that led to the next floor, blocked at the top by a large stone carved into a sphere. Why it was there he didn't know, what mattered was that it came tumbling down when Mike hit it with a brick from a relatively safe distance. Alongside a cacophony of sound the stone rolled down the stairs and through the wall ahead of it, and to Mike's surprise the next wall past that. A rush of freezing air nearly toppled Mike as he rushed into the room, to a familiar sight.

As before, Oscar was clad head to toe in Elite Knight armor, blue jacket buried under a sizable amount of collapsed masonry. A dry cough forced its way out of the injured knight when he saw Mike.

"...Oh, you... You're no hollow, eh?" Mike felt a small tremor run up his spine. He knew these words, some of the last of Knight Oscar's. He'd have to hear the man out, at least.

"Thank goodness... I'm done for, I'm afraid..." Oscar said slowly, as his right hand wandered to a leather pouch on his belt. "I'll die soon, then lose my sanity... I wish to ask something of you... You and I, we're both Undead... Hear me out, will you?"

Mike felt a deal of pity for this man, this knight that was about to give up on his sanity because he'd failed so hard so fast. He had to stop this now. "I will hear you out sir, but you've got a lot of injuries, it seems. We'd best get you to a bonfire before you pass, let me help you with that." Oscar let out a shocked breath as Mike stepped up to him and firmly grabbed him under the arm, pulling him to his feet. From multiple points in his armor blood pooled and dripped, and most of his body hung useless from Mike's grip. Like he'd been taught in scouts, he slid an arm around Oscar's shoulders, much to the pained mans distress, and began the arduous process of bringing him back tot he bonfire.

Thankfully for the pair, adjacent to the stairs leading to the next floor was a set of stairs that led directly to the first courtyard Mike had encountered, with a one way door at the bottom. To both Mike and Oscar's surprise, the door unlatched with little effort, and came open on squealing hinges. Mike quickly dragged the limp knight to the bonfire inside, where he let him drop to the ground.

"Ah! Oh... I don't deserve this." Oscar groaned, as loud popping sounds began to resound from within his armor. As his legs began to straighten out and move of their own volition Oscar turned to Mike, and spoke. "Why did you do that?" His voice, usually calm and even toned, cracked slightly as his legs violently jerked into their proper places.

"I serve no purpose to you." He continued. "In case you did not notice, the demon that guards the exit to this place has already bested me once. There is no escape for myself." Oscar hung his head and sighed.

"Well, to begin, you've got a sword, which is one more weapon that I hold." Mike said, waving a hand in the general direction of the Astoran straight sword on Oscar's belt. He put up a hand when Oscar went to remove it. "-And, I don't know how to use a sword. So I need you." Oscar sighed once more.

"You don't understand. You were the one in the west wing, yes?" Oscar asked. Mike nodded, and he continued. "While you escaped, I fought a demon as tall as a house, and in one swing of its hammer I was very nearly killed, if not for the dust that dried my wounds." Yeah, Oscar had been quite dusty, hadn't he?

"You see, I've not yet encountered death, yet." Oscar said, to Mike's surprise. "Unlike yourself. A pyromancer, are you? I see you've a family crest, too. You're more than enough to challenge that beast." Still staring at his feet, Oscar gestured in the general direction of the second courtyard. What family crest had he meant? He could find no sight of any symbol or symbols on his clothing.

Mike sighed. Dramatic people got on his nerves sometimes, though this was, in some ways, justified. "Oscar." He said sharply, drawing the knights attention.

"Yes?" Oscar said curiously. Then, surprise dawned on his face. "Wait, I've never introduced myself! How did you-?!" The knight sputtered.

"Exactly. You'd better listen to what I've got to say." Mike said seriously. He crouched so he was face to face with the sitting man. "Oscar, I'm not from this world. It's hard to explain, and you might not believe me, but I _need _you. Where I come from combat is more a sport than a necessity, I know nothing about it. I already saw the Asylum demon, i ran right next to it! If you don't help me escape, I'll hollow for certain, but with you we could both go and complete your prophecy!"

Oscar seemed to brighten up some at mention of the prophecy. "So you know it too!" He exclaimed. "Even in Astora it was somewhat vague, I hadn't expected someone else to be attempting it!"

Mike nodded. "I figured as much too. There are a few details you don't have concerning the thing, but I can explain those in time."

Oscar's eyes showed surprise, and the rest of his face, too, when he removed his helmet. "I'll do it!" He said as he shot to his feet. "You know my name and my word, it seems, what is yours, may I ask?"

"Mike, of a place known as Earth. I'm surprised you're taking so well to this." Mike extended a hand, which Oscar shook strongly.

"You've shown me that you know my name, as well as the layout of this place somewhat well, to find me _and _know the fastest way to this fire. Therefore, you have at least some useful knowledge. I also wouldn't mind a companion in reaching the Bell of Awakening, untrained though you are. Are you sure you know nothing of fighting?" Oscar asked.

"Nope." Mike shook his head. "I could learn, but the closest there is to a weapon I've used before would be a crossbow, and there aren't any of those around here."

That would be somewhat problematic, Oscar thought; though he _had _half expected every other prisoner in this place to be hollowed.

"Well," Oscar mused, "I have a spare dagger. Do you suppose you can stab with it? Aim and strike, should be easy enough on a hollow."

"Sure." Mike said with an accompanying shrug. "Let's see it then."

Oscar pulled a plain double edged dagger from his left boot and extended it to Mike hilt first. In his inexperienced hands, the knife was heavy and solid feeling; he tightened his grip and made a quick jab at an invisible enemy. Oscar's brows shot up when he widened his stance, as he'd seen on television.

"So you _do _know something." Oscar said suggestively.

Mike lowered the knife and nodded. "Not out of practicality. I've never had to do more than clean an animal with a knife. But like you said, hollows are pretty slow anyway."

"Yes indeed. Well, you can follow behind me then, until we find you a shield." Oscar said. "Do you have any skill in pyromancy, or do you just wear the robes?"

"Not yet." Mike said as he swung the dagger a few more times. "Usually an undead pyromancer from my cell would get a pyromancy flame from a corpse the next story up. I'm hoping it's not too difficult to figure out."

"Magic usually is." Oscar added.

"I wouldn't know. No magic where I come from." Mike said. He continued. "That's one positive to showing up here I guess."

"We'll find out together, then. While it is not my primary goal, one of the mystic arts would add to my options quite well. I don't suppose you know of any Miracle trainers in Lordran?" Oscar asked curiously.

Mike nodded. "Yeah, but the one I can think of offhand is a real nasty piece of work. I wouldn't advise working with him in any capacity." Sure, Petrus was manageable, Mike thought, but was it really worth learning from such a jerk?

"Oh!" Mike exclaimed suddenly. "Lordran! I'm not sure if we have an exact time limit or not, but I'd rather not doddle. Shall we?" He made a dramatic motion to the stairs.

Oscar, feeling much better, frowned as they climbed, rising past where he had lain in wait for someone. Mike lead them confidently around the courtyard facing floor, stopping before a destroyed set of stairs. Oscar wondered how Mike thought he would get up the jagged stone face when the skinny young man grabbed one of the steel bars set into the floor and began shimmying up it.

"Got it!" Mike yelled down. He slid back down the steel bars and showed off a rusted manacle he'd pulled off the arm of a corpse up above.

Oscar tried, without success to figure out the reasoning behind this acquisition. "It's... a manacle?" He said slowly.

"A magic one, I think." Mike tapped a few flakes of rust off the body of the band of iron. "It was the only one on him," he jerked a thumb up at the corpse hanging over the stairs.

"Well. That's a first for me." Oscar took the iron manacle when offered and turned it over in his hands. "Yes," He said with surprise, "this has some magic in it. I couldn't say what, though. It's very weak."

"Something about keeping your footing." Mike suggested. "I honestly don't know."

"Well, we'll ask a sorcerer if we run into one." Oscar said finally. "To the next floor, then?"

Mike looped the manacle around his belt and let it hang there. He led the way with a nod as he pulled Oscar's dagger from the other side of his belt. "Let me handle the first few hollows. I'd like to see how I do before we take on the Asylum demon." They continued down the hall for a few seconds before Mike added "Oh, and keep your estus flask ready, just in case."

Oscar nodded and opened a pouch on his hip, resting one hand on it. Mike gripped the dagger a little tighter as they rose into view of the first hollow on the next floor, which lurched forth without hesitation.

Mike jumped in surprise as the hollow lashed out at his face, stumbling back a step and nearly falling down the stairs. Oscar grabbed him by the arm and pushed him forward. "Aim for the heart, or some other vital. One stab should do it. Now!"

"But-" Mike began to say.

"Stab!" Oscar barked, startling Mike with his ferocity. Without thinking Mike followed directions and stabbed at the hollow, wich had gotten quite closer by now. It's arm was knocked aside by Mike surging forward, jabbing while simultaneously knocking it over. The two fell in a pile on the floor, from which Mike rose, breathing heavily.

"Rude." Mike scoffed.

"Everyone needs a push sometimes." Oscar said, thinking back to being nearly killed.

Yes..." Mike agreed. "I suppose that wasn't so hard. Like killing a deer, but without a gun. Putting down an animal."

"Exactly." Oscar said, wondering hat a 'gun' was. He ignored it and pulled the key ring he'd stashed in his pocket out. "Let's open this door then."

Before them, directly following the stairs up was a door barring passage to the next floor. Oscar tried out a few keys before locating the right one, which turned the lock over with a small squeal of protest.

"Hold on." Mike said as they stepped onto a snowy balcony outside of the building. He trotted ahead, following the left wall of the asylum, and peered around a corner. Finding a pair of hollows, he jumped out and jabbed one in the chest before either could move. He then fell back on Oscar's position as they shuffled around the corner.

"You're picking this up rather fast." Oscar noted.

"Yes, I suppose were they more... sane, I might have some more trepidation. As it is, I'm tempted to try and jump down to the outside rather than fight the demon." Mike jumped forward and swiped at the faster of the two hollows as it brought its blade up to attack. It fell to the snow bearing a large red gash across its torso. The other fell to a similar move just after.

"Good good." Oscar said enthusiastically. "You wouldn't fool any human, but this should help you some."

"Yeah." Mike agreed. He looked around the courtyard as the hollows faded until he spotted a lump in the snow that wasn't a pile of bricks. "Here's the pyromancy flame corpse I was talking about earlier." He said while gesturing for Oscar to follow him.

"Why would..." Oscar swiped the snow off the body's torso, revealing a plain brown robe. "Oh, another pyromancer. That makes sense."

"Yeah, help me search it." Mike rummaged through the robes as he talked, pulling up naught but a few pieces of crumbling red paper. "Look for, I don't know, a glove or something like that. Possibly it might be on fire, too."

That was a wonderful thought that made Oscar snatch his hands away sharply. He eyed Mike critically as the undead investigated the worn leather bracelet on the corpses left hand. Whatever it had been, now it was just a useless piece of junk, frozen beyond saving.

"Hey." Oscar spoke up as he made contact with the right hand of the hollow. Something black was tattoed onto the palm, Oscar could just identify a few runes in the mass of pale, wrinkled skin before something red exploded in front of his visor. Mike called out sharply nearby, and Oscar was knocked back from the corpse into the snow. Mike slumped against a wall next to him.

"What, did you do?" Oscar asked as he pulled himself up.

"Agh. Hold on, let me see your estus." Mike said when he turned to Oscar. He cradled his left hand in his right, the pink skin red and inflamed. Oscar then noticed a burning sensation in his own hand, and was surprised to look down and find his gauntlet radiating heat, the hand underneath gone numb from shock. After Mike took a deep swallow from the flask Oscar did the same, letting his armor cool in the snow.

When their hands had healed over, both undead were left wondering what'd happened. Mike spoke first. "All I did was grab it's hand, and then it exploded."

"Why?" Oscar asked.

"I thought there was something on it's palm, a tattoo or something." Mike waved at the corpse with his own hand. It sat in a puddle of water the explosion had melted, steam rising from where the charred lumps of it's own appendages ended. "I guess we won't know now." He continued.

Oscar looked down at his hand, which had yet to fully cool, curiously. "Hey," He said without looking up from his palm. "Is your hand still warm? Not exactly hot, but... warm?"

Mike hadn't exactly been focusing on his hand, but when prompted he _did _notice something off about his hand. A soft, warm feeling crept from his hand and up his arm, where it ended. When focused on, the entire limb began to rapidly heat up. Mike quickly Stuck the arm in a snowbank nearby, melting it as his skin came into contact with it. "Yeah, warm, weird feeling present."

"I think we found your pyromancy flame." Oscar stated, still focused on his arm. He grit his teeth and _focused, _and the temperature of the limb returned to normal, a heavy feeling invading his senses. It was like seeing for the first time in years, but internally. Oscar could feel the potential heat waiting inside of himself. Apparently, Mike did too.

"Owowowowow." Mike said through clenched teeth as his arm turned red.

"That does not look healthy." Oscar said. "Try focusing on the heat. Keep it inside, here." He leaned forward and tapped Mike on the chest.

"...Trying." Mike said. "Hnnngh, ah!" Mike turned his arm at a wall and flared his fingers, and a wave of heat reduced the snow dusting it to steam that quickly dissipated. Mike, breathing heavily, shook his arm. "I think I got it under control. How did you do it so fast?" He asked Oscar.

The knight didn't know how to answer that. Natural aptitude, maybe? He shrugged. "Maybe my gauntlet? It took much of the heat, maybe you got more... whatever came from that corpse?" He didn't know what to say from there.

"Possibly, yeah." Mike agreed. He focused, this time, on only a small amount of heat from the potential in him. From his palm emanated a small bit of warmth, barely enough to melt the snow near it. For a few minutes he experimented, trying to to form more heat without burning his palm. Oscar, too focused on his right hand, trying to recall any critical information regarding pyromancy use.

"No fire?" Mike asked after getting tired of burning the surface of his hand.

"Nope, though I can heat up both hands." Oscar said. He melted the snow in front of him to show what he meant.

"Oh neat, so can I!" Mike exclaimed as he too simultaneously used both hands to burn both hands. They eventually worked out that they could heat the space between two opposing palms up higher than either palm alone, but from there they managed nothing more than Mike accidentally burning his hands a few more times. The estus flask would never cease to amaze him, he thought. So too would being a human blowtorch, but burning himself every time he got his flame on would be a slight deal breaker.

"I guess this adds a mystic art to your arsenal then." Mike said a few minutes later as he prepared to run around the corner and kill the archer there, which actually had a working bow this time. Oscar nodded in agreement.

"Yes, if I can figure out how to use it." Oscar let out a wave of heat for emphasis.

"Oh, there'll be time to learn shortly." Mike put a hand to his chin, thinking. "We have a few stops before then, but I know where to find a pyromancer in Lordran." He grimaced. "Though, he's in a pretty bad location. Lot's of tough, fast hollows. Not ideal for either of us."

"No, not ideal indeed. First, this demon." Oscar said.

"Yeah," Mike grimaced, "That. One second." With his left hand Mike turned around the corner leading around the outside of the asylum and hurled a chunk of masonry that had been uncovered in his and Oscar's experimentation with pyromancy. The jagged edged piece of stone glanced off the hollow and to the ground, the distraction a mere few seconds. Mike spun around the corner and entered the hollow's personal space before it could reorient its bow, and the loaded arrow went astray behind him. Oscar, no, Mike's dagger sank into the hollows chest, and Mike stepped back before he could be covered in the dark blood that spilled out shortly. _Ew. _Mike wiped the dagger clean on his robes and slid it back in his belt. The one positive to all of this was that, while not as slow nor as predictable as they were in game, the hollows were nonetheless much slower and much simpler than any live opponent. For the foreseeable future, things would be simple.

"Good idea. I guess I hadn't thought of using dirty tricks against hollows." Oscar said as he turned the corner. "I take it this leads to the Asylum demon? What is it?" He said while peering closely at the fog wall nearby.

Wait, he was getting too close! That fool was going to- "Watch out!" Mike shouted.

"Wha-?!" Oscar struggled as the top of his helm caught the fog wall and began to pull him through. His hands sank faster as he tried to pull back.

"Oscar, stop you're only making this faster!" Mike yelled as he grabbed the knight's flailing arms. "Chill out!" Oscar certainly didn't look very chilled out. His arms were up to the shoulders, and his head was almost through. Only his feet held out, catching on a section of jagged brickwork. "Listen, you have to jump on the demon's face, or it'll break the ledge off!" Mike shouted through the fog. "Hit him with all you've got, I'm right behind you!"

Oscar slid the final few inches through the wall, his feet lifting off the stone at the last few moments. Mike listened carefully, sweat beading on the back of his neck as he heard a thud resound through the asylum. The quiet whisper of steel leaving a scabbard let him know it was time to go through the wall, and he slid his dagger from his belt in preparation. Heart pounding, Mike stepped into the wall, and was lost to sight.


	3. Chapter 3

**A little shorter than the last chapter, but more nonetheless. ONWARD.**

* * *

For a few seconds as Mike passed through the fog all, all was silent. Mute to the world, Mike thought, as he did best. Chills filled him as the idea of fighting, and beating, the asylum demon with only a dagger entered his mind. It was madness, surely. Him or Oscar, or quite possibly both would die, and it would hurt more than anything Mike had ever felt before. This was going to suck.

Noise assaulted Mike as he stepped out of the fog onto a small balcony overlooking the second courtyard of the asylum, in which both Oscar and the Asylum demon were fighting at the moment. Oscar appeared to be dodging the demon's attacks with some success, parts of his armor carried dents and scuffs not there before, and he limped slightly, favoring his left foot. The demon, meanwhile, had a narrow red line down the lower half of its torso, stretching from just below its jaw to the widest part of its midsection. From it the metallic smell of blood cloyed at Mike's nose, overcoming even the winds that swept through the area.

"Mike!" Oscar shouted from below. It was about time he'd come through, Oscar had nearly lost his sword arm to the demon's jaws on the way down, and now he was barely avoiding it's attacks! The younger undead stood above, watching wide-eyed.

"Wh-I got it! I'm coming down!" Mike yelled back. It was obvious Oscar needed some assistance, his sword was only somewhat effective against the demon's hide, stone-like though it was. It was a wonder Oscar drew blood at all. Mike looked down, and doubted his dagger's ability to make much difference in the fight. Ah heck it, he should at least try something. Thinking hard, Mike waited for just the right moment, before...

"AaaaaAAH!" Mike yelled as he leaped from the balcony toward the demon's exposed back. Jagged spires of bone formed a pair of wings there, which was exactly what Mike aimed for as Oscar dropped underneath a slow but deadly swipe of the demon's gargantuan hammer. His hands slipped as they tried finding purchase on the demon's back, sending him sliding halfway down before he caught hold of the wings. The bones and skin pulled taut under his weight, hanging with one hand on each wing. Oscar took the moments in which the demon was distracted to run in for a heavy attack on the demon's right foot, his sword cutting deeply into the flesh.

Adrenaline surged through Mike as the demon twisted around to glare at him. His left hand slipped off the wing it held as the demon shuddered like a wet dog, shaking itself madly to remove him. He was not deterred by his precarious predicament; Mike grit his teeth and fumbled at his belt for the hilt of his dagger. The demon was surprised to find him still holding on, and still in fighting condition enough to stab it in the back as far as the dagger would go. It roared ferociously, clawed left arm twisting around to swipe at him fruitlessly. Mike let go of the right wing and hung by the dagger, which held strong in the demons skin.

Meanwhile, Oscar noticed a significant change come over the demon he fought. Heavy though he was, the demon's strikes began to change, becoming more erratic and weak. Though Mike could not see it, Oscar could feel the telltale shake of his sword arm, the softness in his knees indicative of fear. He grit his teeth and jabbed at the monster's ankles once again, his sword sparking as it encountered a particularly hard area of flesh.

When Oscar looked up at the demon, a shudder went through him. It was a wonder he wasn't dead yet, by his or Mike's doing he wasn't certain. His first few moments in the courtyard had been those of terror, a quaking in his bones that he hadn't felt since he was a boy. He'd pulled through and made the plunge, barely missing the gnashing teeth right below him. He'd twisted his foot landing though, due to his own weight. That had caused him to take a glancing blow, which led him to where they were now.

Erratic though it was, Oscar hoped Mike had a plan to face this beast, because he wasn't entirely sure of his ability to do much more than bite at its ankles, and perhaps its lower thighs if he found an opening. As it was, he found the job of avoiding death quite distracting.

Mike was having trouble pulling himself up the demon's back, as it was. The thing simply moved too much, he couldn't find a suitable handhold without being shaken and twisted and bashed against stony skin when it tried jump/flying. Somehow, he needed Oscar, or something, to get it to stop moving so much.

"Hey, Oscar!" Mike yelled down to the knight.

Oscar glanced up briefly before answering. "Yes?!" He called back. he stumbled on his next step, almost becoming paste under the demon's hammer. His shield, though, was caught, and his arm wrenched into such a position as to cause a loud series of popping sounds as it went in directions it shouldn't have. Oscar cried out in pain before biting his own tongue, eyes watering. His arm limp at his side, he retreated.

"Sorry!" Mike yelled initially. Following that, "Stop fighting fair! Make this thing hurt, I don't care how! We need to get it to slow down!" Suddenly the demon spun, and Mike was slammed against its back and out of Oscar's sight.

To be frank, Oscar hadn't thought of doing such; fighting unfairly. Every ounce of his training, traditional and not, told him to play as he did, as he had for a long, long time. Even in his time in the asylum and travelling he had never once stabbed a man nor hollow from behind, nor used techniques like distracting and sneaking. Even now, some of him thought it was dishonorable that Mike had attacked the demon from behind, though logic told him it was the intelligent move.

All right, why not? What was in reach was... the demon's foot, and the demon's more tender locations, cover by its gut though they were. Between the two, Oscar would rather take the foot. His mind made up, he looped around the demon's side, ducking under a swing of its hammer, and did the best thing he could. He slashed his sword at the demons toes, and when that failed, he held the blade on them as it faltered and stomped on the edge, hard.

Whatever Oscar had done, it worked! Mike Endured a few more minutes of shaking as the demon stumbled about wildly, waving its hammer erratically. Oscar retreated behind a section of pillars across the room, and Mike took the momentary lack of shaking directed his way to clamber higher up the demons back, all the way to where he could place a foot atop each wing.

Mike, not hesitating, stabbed the dagger in his left hand deep into the demon's neck, leaning back to drag it through the thick hide nearly ten inches before it pulled free. The demon's cry became shrill as blood began to flow freely from the wound, now it's hammer was dropped as it groped for Mike atop it. A sudden hot feeling came over Mike as the demon slapped at the wound he'd made, and suddenly the world was spinning around him as he neared the ground. The snow came up fast, and the world around him went dark in a second.

* * *

"...Ike! Mike!" Mike jolted awake instantly, his left hand flying out in front of him into open air. Oscar, to his right, jerked back a little. Bruises covered one side of his face, but he worked his mouth into a small smile when Mike saw him.

"Oh." Mike said slowly. "Ohhh." He turned, and found an empty courtyard full of snow that had already settled, save for a single large spot in the center, where the demon had fallen. "We did it then." He said as he let himself lay back in the snow. A warm feeling came over his side as he let his eyes wander.

"We did." Oscar said heavily. "Though it was close. He nearly had me for a few minutes, I hadn't even considered foul play."

Mike shrugged, that was somewhat a given. "i think-" He started as he pushed himself up with his arms, "-that you'll find I'm quite good at doing, and expecting the unexpected. We were quite good at it."

"We?" Oscar asked. Mike found out what the warm feeling was a moment later, as he saw what had happened to his shirt. The entire thing had been torn to rags when the demon had sent him flying with its claws, and across his chest were four crimson lines, three of which appeared to be burned along their length. Oscar held his index finger above the last, his face pinched tightly as he sealed the last cut with pyromancy.

"Oh, it did get me." Mike said, a little surprised. His robe wasn't as tattered as the undershirt, which he quickly tore into strips for Oscar to wrap around his chest. As the knight worked he said, "Me and my sister, back where I come from. We were close, once upon a time, did all sorts of crazy things for the sake of doing crazy things."

"Did? Do you mean to say she is deceased?" Oscar asked. Mike shook his head and stood when Oscar was done.

"No." Mike said. He pulled his robe tighter around him and turned to where the demon had fallen, avoiding Oscar's eyes. "We had a falling out. Hey, you got any estus left?"

Oscar fell into step besides Mike and shook his head. He didn't fail to notice the sudden shift in conversation. "No, I gave it all to you as soon as I could get to you, which took a few minutes in and of itself. I was pretty bad for a while too."

"Hmm. Well, all's well and such. I don't suppose this'll scar over, with the bonfire doing its thing?" Mike asked Oscar.

"Possibly." Oscar said, thinking. He wasn't sure of the exact time to damage ratio, but it was likely Mike _would _scar from the large wound, considering it had been very nearly ten minutes since he'd gotten it. "Yes, there is a likelihood. Usually it take a bit of time for the wound to 'set in' for it to really stick. Why ask?"

Mike shrugged. "Where I'm from, scars like this, heck, the entire medical system and how we view it is different from here. For most guys, this would be a point of pride, to show off their gnarly wound."

"Gnarly?" Oscar said, forming the word slowly.

"Um... intense? Large? Something like that." Mike explained.

Ah, that made sense to Oscar, as did scars; often enough he'd been invited to compare. He had never found it particularly... engaging. "Yes, here it would be much the same, though there aren't many creatures that could do..." He waved at Mike's chest. "...That."

"Nothing currently alive could do this back home either." Mike said. "Closest would be a bear maybe, or a tiger, and both would be quite rare anyway." Mike traced the lines on his chest slowly, sending sharp jabs of pain through his torso.

"Can you feel it still? I'm not sure how much the estus fixed, there wasn't much left after it sewed up your head." Oscar said. At Mike's questioning look he explained, "You hit your head on the floor pretty hard, I thought it'd kill you for sure. There was blood everywhere."

Indeed, when Mike turned around to face where he had woken up he found the snow to be covered in a bright red splash of crimson, from his chest and head. "Ow." He said, putting a hand to his temple. To Oscar, "They hurt some; I think the estus handled the worst of it. Good work with the pyromancy, by the way."

"Thank you. It simply jumped to mind when I was drip feeding you the estus. I half expected it not to work." Oscar shrugged modestly. "So, what are we doing over here?" He asked as Mike came to a stop.

"Looking for a key, and maybe a humanity." Mike answered, the skin over his chest tingling at the mention of a humanity. The hunger he knew came from the darksign there ached inside him.

"Ah." Oscar looked up at the large door barring the way to the exit. He hadn't considered it being locked, though it made sense now. He and Mike spent some time searching the snow for the fallen key, Mike finding the humanity seconds before he spotted the key.

"Do you know how to-" Oscar was cut off by Mike squeezing the humanity in his fist, forcing it into himself. A long sigh escaped the shabby-looking undead.

"Good, very good. Onward and southward, then." Mike announced when Oscar held the key aloft. The brass key was carved into a complex series of spikes and shapes that smoothly unlocked the final doorway barring their entrance into the land of the gods. Oscar breathed deeply the mountain air that washed over them when the doors opened on quiet hinges.

Oscar surveyed the mountain view off to the right as Mike disappeared to the left, saying something about 'soul items' or some such. His eyes were eventually drawn to a large bird nest perched precariously on a tiny ledge, which brought a small smile to his face. Even this far up, on the tallest mountain north of Lordran, life continued on.

Mike appeared from some twisting corner as Oscar neared the crest of the slope the Asylum was built on. He began speaking as soon as Oscar saw him. "Hey, did you see the _mountain _behind us?! I never knew it was there!" Indeed, there behind them rose the tip of a mountain far behind the asylum, leagues away.

"Yes, that's the northern belt. It stretches from here west and east as far as can be seen, past civilization. It's always been right there." Oscar didn't know what further to say.

"Well, this makes things a little weird. let's walk." Mike said as he led the way toward the top of the hill in front of them. Oscar felt his hopes fall when he saw what was there. A great slope fell sharply to the ground far below, where was snow and trees, as far as he could see to the south.

"Let me explain. I said I was from a different world. This is true, but in my world, this world is a story, in which an undead from the asylum that you release either saves, or temporarily dooms the world from, or to darkness." Mike paused to let things sink in. Oscar appeared somewhat doubtful.

"What of the mountains?" Oscar asked. "You knew nothing of them."

"the author of this particular story loved to be incredibly vague and mysterious." Mike explained. "_But, _I would say I have a better than normal grasp on things here than most random undead. The expanded story-like the mountains-simply makes things a little exciting for the both of us."

Oscar nodded, his face masked as he thought this over. "So, you're saying you know the future." He asked.

"Um, somewhat. There are a few conventional possibilities, and with my expanded view a few more I'm bouncing around right now." Mike said. Some of those ideas, in particular, revolved around using heretical magic to do things he probably shouldn't, so he chose not to voice those options to Oscar.

Oscar leaned forward and peered over the edge of the cliff in front of them. "Well, I hope you know what to do from here. I had expected a somewhat less... drastic descent. Shall we climb, or go back and find another route?" He recalled mention of possible tunnels down through the mountains, that might bear some fruit.

"Wait for it." Mike said, purposefully holding out on Oscar.

"Wait for what?" Oscar asked. Following Mike's line of sight, he peered into the distance ahead of them. "Are we waiting for a sign or some sort?"

Mike shook his head. "No, our transportation should be here any second. How far do you figure we are from Lordran, by the way?"

Oscar took a few moments to do some mental math. "A few days, seven to ten maybe. If we walked through the night, less. Why?"

Mike looked up suddenly, prompting Oscar to follow. What he saw made his heart leap into his throat. "You're joking."

Mike was silent.

"You're joking, right?!" Oscar took a step back as a massive black bird continued growing larger and larger in his vision, until it almost blocked out the horizon.

Both undead were none too gently grabbed around their midsections, and flown off in a black blur.

* * *

Mike woke with a roaring headache, and a grumpy knight. _Two _grumpy knights, actually. Crestfallen initiated contact when Mike sat up from where he'd fallen and been knocked unconscious.

"Ah, taken a bit of a fall, eh? That great lug of a bird does like to mess with some undead, though sometimes I'd prefer if it'd just stop bringing them..." Crestfallen sighed and turned away from Mike.

"Well good morning to you too." Mike said as he massaged the bump on the back of his head. Oscar began to stir then.

"Are we...?" He asked slowly, looking around himself. They appeared to have been deposited in a decrepit location centralized around a bonfire, though much of it was crumbling almost beyond recognition. A rather aggravated man in chain armor sat on a chunk of stone nearby, looking rather unpleased with Mike's chipper attitude.

Mike dramatically spread his arms and faced Oscar. "Welcome to Firelink shrine, home to the world famous Grump, Other Grump back there-" he pointed to an old chapel, presumably where this 'Other Grump' lived, "-and Anastasia. She's the firekeeper here."

Oscar nodded knowingly. "I thought this fire seemed peculiarly strong..." He mused. "There aren't too many keepers left in the outside world. Too many undead looking for a quick humanity, with no thoughts for the the ramifications of their actions."

Mike nodded his agreement. "This one I'll be watching carefully, there are some dangers in the road ahead for her."

"Good to know." Oscar said, nodding.

"Hmph." The Crestfallen knight grumbled. Whether that was a good thing or not, neither undead could be sure of, nor were they going to ask.

The shrine was much more an interesting place in person that through a screen, high resolution or not. Off to the left, the building containing Frampt and exiting to the graveyard towered over everything else, topped by the large crow they had just recently become acquainted with. Above the bird rose a tower topped by a nest, and further above that extended the branches of a tree of nearly incomprehensible size. The rest of the shrine squirreled out of the cliff face it was built against, with two small shafts extending up to the top of the cliff, where the Parish was. There was the possibility they could be climbed, but Mike wasn't sure he really felt like doing so for as easy as the Burg was. To Mike it was like being the first child to enter a new playground. Adventure was in the air, he could almost taste it.

"Which way leads us further?" Oscar asked, startling Mike.

"Oh, we won't be going the proper way just yet." Mike said. "That would be up there, to the Undead Burg, but we have a few things to do around here first." Oscar scrutinized the stairs Mike pointed to, leading up and around the cliff to the right, eventually disappearing from sight.

"Why?" Oscar asked simply.

Mike thought carefully about what they might need or want from the shrine and its surrounding locations. "There's a graveyard over there," Mike indicated where he meant as he talked, "but the bones have trouble staying down without a holy weapon like your sword. Only thing of use there is a few free souls. Those two tall elevator shafts lead to the Parish, where the first bell is, but it's stuck at the top right now. I'm going to go behind us to the back of the shrine, and from there go to New Londo, where there is a magician I can buy magic from. You want in?"

"No." Oscar shook his head. "Too complicated, not to mention this." He held up his right gauntlet palm upward, from which heat waves rolled.

"Okay, gotcha. Anyway, from there we'll go to the Burg, maybe or maybe not cheat and go where we probably shouldn't early, and then get to the Parish. Sound like a plan?" It was pretty generic, to be sure, Mike thought. However, If they could access the Lower Burg early, it might mean getting to Laurentius and Griggs faster than he'd anticipated, and he and Oscar could reign in their pyromancy. Curiously, Mike held up a hand and let out some heat. His palm stung from the effort, and he quickly stopped as it reached painful heights.

"So what should I do?" Oscar asked as Mike turned to head below.

"Head toward the elevator in the back, and avoid talking to the large blonde man if you can. At the bottom of the shaft there's a secret room that leads out into the graveyard. Grab everything useful and race back here as fast as you can to avoid the skeletons, and you'll be fine. I'm honestly not sure how long I'll be down there, so wait for me at the Bonfire." Was there anything else the knight could do? Mike couldn't think of anything particular, so he continued down. Oscar headed away from him toward Petrus, and Mike could only hope he wouldn't mention that he was travelling with someone that knew the future. Hopefully, he would fly right under Petrus's radar and stop him before he let Rhea fall into Patches' trap.

Oscar disappeared into the shrine as Mike descended away from it, marveling at the realness of it all. Curiosity overcame him as he stepped into sight of Anastasias cell, and Mike took a moment to lean over the edge of the cliff the shrine was built on to marvel at the ravine below, which ran into the Blighttown somewhere in the distance. A shudder went down his back. That was going to be an experience, for sure. From here the edge of the swamp looked like a pitch black fog, from which extended the few pillars that had held up over time. But that wasn't today's story. Today's story included Anastasia and Rickert, and extended deep below the Shrine.

At first glance, Mike wasn't sure if there was actually a person in the place Anastasia usually occupied. Yes, a bunched up ball of grey rags sat dejected-looking on the ground, but he couldn't discern a face of limbs from the mass. It was as he approached the pile of rags-for that was what she appeared clothed in-that Anastasia revealed herself, Uncurling from the fetal position she was in. Like a transformer Anastasia appeared from the rags, two arms and a face appearing wrapped in grey. Mike's heart went out for her as she pulled herself closer to the bars of her cell with her hands, dragging behind her two limbs that only vaguely resembled legs.

Mike slowly approached the firekeeper, much like how one would approach a wild animal. Anastasia looked him up and down curiously, though she edged back as he neared. "Hello." Mike said quietly. She flinched at the sound, but didn't move back further.

"My name is Mike, of Earth. It's nice to meet you, Anastasia of Astora." Mike stuck a hand through the bars, and the wisp of a woman, probably less than thirty in age, flinched back. Her face held shock and fear in equal measure. He had no doubt she was quite experienced in feeling the latter of the two.

He continued. "You don't know me, nor does anyone else for that matter, but by the time I... do something about the First Flame, you'll be free of these bars, forever." Anastasia shook her head feverishly. Obviously, she was convinced she belonged here.

"Yes yes, I know." Mike said. He looked at her for a moment, taking in her pale face and grimy appearance. Conspiratorially, he leaned forward and gestured for her to come closer.

"Between you and me," He began, "there isn't a god left with more than a smidge of power to their name, and I know all of their weaknesses. The Witch burns with Chaos, Gwyn is basically an undead torch, Nito got stolen from by an abomination, Seath is crazy, and Manus is enraged and crazy. No-one can argue if you're free, and free I'll make you. I swear that."

Anastasia looked up at Mike with a look that would have brought lesser men to tears, but Mike wasn't a lesser man. He was his own special brand of freaky, and the look Anastasia gave him silently fueled the metaphorical fire in his chest that drove him onward. That, and he was far too focused on the soft hand that took hold of his own. After a moment's hesitation, Mike lifted her hand up and planted a small peck on it before dashing off. Anastasia watched the stairs he bolted down long after he was gone.


End file.
